


Ship of Visitors

by salanaland



Series: Visitorverse [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Eventual Threesome, F/M, First Time, Gist has an extremely annoying voice, I dunno they're too classy for hardcore porn, Multi, Poor poor Haytham, Smut, soft smut, wingman Haytham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salanaland/pseuds/salanaland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one bit I left out of Visitations because rating. And then the other things that followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Visitors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515243) by [Riona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona). 



Shay felt the thin mattress move beneath him, and was instantly awake, dagger at the intruder's throat even as his sleepy brain registered that he hadn't heard the door of his cabin. When he saw, in the dim light, the striped headscarf over her braids, he flushed with embarrassment and dropped his weapons. "Aveline," he croaked, trying to speak around the indefinable _something_ in his throat.

"Shay," she murmured, hands sliding up under his tattered old shirt. She smelled like gunpowder and blood, and--God help him--he found it arousing, the scent of her and the hungry urgency reflected in her eyes.

"We shouldn't--" he gasped as she practically threw herself into his lap.

"Oh, but we _should,_ " she interrupted, pushing him back onto the bed. "Who has any right to tell us otherwise?" She bent close and their lips met for the first time.

He'd tried not to dwell on her absurdly sensuous lips, tried not to imagine them brushing his and--well, everything he'd pretended not to think was so inferior to the real thing that all his expectations flew right out of his mind, and he bucked mindlessly up against her as she straddled him. She wound her fingers through his unbound hair, the better to hold his head in place as she claimed--there was no better word for it--his mouth. He trembled with need as she surfaced for air, and managed to gasp out, "Why--"

She tore at his clothes, muttering, "Need to feel you, need to feel you _alive_ , need to hold you, alive in my arms, _warm,_ solid, need _you_ , need you _now_ , Shay, _my_ Shay..."

He began to unwind the layers of her slave guise, appreciating every curve revealed, delighting in every half-seen inch of skin. He'd only ever bedded women who were _soft_ : plump and rounded, limited by society and themselves, expecting him to take charge; Aveline was entirely different. He was fairly sure he'd have bruises on his hips, her knees were clutching him so tightly. Her thighs rippled with muscle, and her strong arms pinned him to his bed, even though he had to weigh half again as much as her. And _oh_ , she was freeing him from his smallclothes, ripping the fabric in her haste. And as his hands reached for her breasts (firm but lovely wonders they were) she lowered herself onto him, gasping his name. He murmured, "Aveline," clutching her closer as she began to move in counterpoint to the Morrigan's rocking.

At some point thereafter (he wasn't exactly concerned with the passage of time) she shrieked his name (he'd never liked it so much as on her lips) and went limp atop him, quivering. He gently turned her over and, as she clung to him, he made love to her tenderly. He brought her to another, slower, shuddering climax before losing control completely, and all he knew afterwards was that she was warm and solid in his arms as he rolled half to one side, tucking her protectively against the wall as he drifted off in her embrace.

He woke alone but grinning, and his mood soared when he found, under the pillow, his ripped smalls and a button she'd torn off in her haste. Whistling, he made himself presentable, and exited his cabin.

Gist was there, grinning knowingly. "Who was she?" he asked heartily.

Shay flushed. "What--who--"

"Your dream girl. Adeline, was it?"

"Something like that. It's just a name."

"Seemed like a bit more than that, Shay..."

Shay was getting flustered. "Drop it, man, she'd never... it was just a dream."

Gist nodded, looking smug. "If you ever need me to talk you up to a young lady, just say the word."

Shay chuckled. "I'm not sure that'd help, but thanks anyway."

"Or perhaps if the Grand Master--"

"He _definitely_ wouldn't help."


	2. Chapter 2

Haytham, at Shay's side on the deck of the _Morrigan_ , bit back a curse as he looked at his Hidden Blade. "Shay, do you have any parts for these?"

Shay spared him a glance; the ejection mechanism had become misaligned and probably the fiddly little spring was at fault. "Aye, in my cabin, under my clothes and spare pistols. Help yourself, Grand Master."

Haytham nodded his thanks and went below. Too soon, he returned, his expression an odd mixture of anger and embarrassment. He walked briskly to Shay's side, then whispered in his ear, "There's an Assassin in your bed."

_"What?"_

"Allow me to rephrase: there is an _unclothed_ Assassin in your bed."

"Oh!" Shay grinned foolishly. " _Oh_. Um, doing what?"

Haytham groaned. "I shudder to think. Perhaps you should... deal with her." He squinted at the sun and said resignedly, "Try not to take too long; Gist can be tiresome."

Shay practically skipped down the stairs, only maintaining his composure because he'd invented a sudden megrim that meant he had to take to his bed while Gist was to dock at the nearest friendly town.

Aveline was in his bed, smiling: not coquettishly, for that was just a disguise, but genuinely, strangling his pillow with one arm and watching him come through the doors. She seemed perfectly at ease, naked as the day she was born, on a ship full of men. But why shouldn't she be, knowing only one or two could see her? Haytham was not the sort of man to offer offense, not even to an Assassin; he'd sooner kill her than touch improperly. And Shay...

Shay was the sort of man to offer nothing that might _possibly_ offend, the sort of man who still barely believed that she would lie with him even after several demonstrations of that willingness. He'd not always been this way, he'd been bold and brash once, self-assured and smooth. But that Shay had vanished in Lisbon, just another casualty of the evil he had wrought.

And these interludes with Aveline were almost like something from his old life, something wonderful that he somehow hadn't destroyed. With her, everything was easy, every movement of fingers or tongue a simple pleasure that she eagerly received and reciprocated. He loved the smell of her, the taste of her, the way she felt inside, the musical cadence of her speech, and even every scar on her smooth dusky skin. He was smitten, and he could almost admit it.

"Well, Shay, are you going to stand in the doorway _pointing_ at me?" She grinned at her own joke, and he colored with embarrassment, because of course he was having some trouble fitting his trousers now. He closed the door and crossed to the bed, where she reached up to take him in her arms and pull him onto her. And then, time seemed to move too quickly, paced by her panting breaths and gleeful little noises as he pleasured her. After he'd spent far too short a time between her her thighs, she rolled him over, licking and nipping her way down his body to return every sexual favor he'd given.

The difficulty lay in keeping quiet enough not to blow his cover. He hoped very much that any moans would sound like expressions of head-splitting agony, not the ecstasy that was the feel of her lips and tongue. And when he felt sure to lose himself, she stalked up his body into his tight embrace and rode him to completion, calling his name into his hair as she clasped him tightly, shuddering with her own release as his hips jerked spastically into her.

It was bliss to lie here with her, the both of them stinking of hard-earned sweat; to forget for a moment the wars they opposed each other in, and to simply come together in need and desire. "Mmm," she murmured, "We should have a password."

"Password?" Words were quite difficult for him just now.

"So that when we visit, we may know that we know of this joy, and not waste time figuring out if we have skipped backward in time and are offending each other."

"I suppose..." All he really wanted to think of right now was the feel of her skin against his, and the braid he was twirling around his finger.

She grinned devilishly at him. "I have it! If I say _understanding_ to you and you say _permitted_ to me, then we may proceed in this way."

He laughed. "Wicked, wicked woman! I hear...I hear they say everything is _permitted_."

She smirked. "If I am _understanding_ you, you wish another turn." Her hand drifted down to stroke him, which made her point without words.

He kissed her, long and slow, and before he was done, she was on him again, hips grinding against one another as she gasped into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Haytham. He's probably going to have to bleach his brain after seeing Aveline and then hearing all the noise.


	3. Chapter 3

Aveline's target had been a messy kill, leaning forwards at the last moment so that she got him in the lungs, not directly in the heart. The wet whistling was awful to hear, and he'd had quite a story to tell her in a voice that was practically nonexistent. Her robes were bloodied and she felt shaken by the time he'd finally gurgled out his last breath, and she'd quickly leapt into a haystack because she heard guards coming. Anyone with dark skin was unsafe when a white man had been murdered nearby. 

Then she was on the frigid deck of the _Morrigan_ , the blood on her clothes instantly chilling her after the muggy heat of Nouvelle Orleans. She couldn't help it--she started shivering. Shay's head snapped up from the wheel, and he gaped at her. She gestured miserably to herself, and he nodded towards his cabin. "Gist, let's dock here for the night."

"Aye, Captain, the cook should have the evening meal ready before long, or will you be dining at the tavern in the town?" Shay's first mate asked. Aveline made a face. She hated Gist for no other reason than his unnaturally hearty voice.

"Tell him I'll be eating onboard ship, but everyone else is free to go as they please for tonight. I'll rest a while until dinner is ready, though." He spun the wheel once to the right, finally, then checked to make sure the ropes were secured. His crew began streaming off the ship and, unnoticed in the throng, he seized Aveline's hand and tugged her towards his cabin. When the doors were locked and they were standing in the dim room, he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"I'm covered in blood, Shay," she told him, but clung to him tightly.

"Bad day?" he asked sympathetically.

"My blade pierced him in the lungs," she admitted. "It took far too long for him to die."

He winced, heard a knock, and opened the door to accept a pitcher of steaming water from the cook's assistant, who also told him dinner would be served in an hour. "Bring it to me here?" he asked. "I've a ton of things to do." The assistant nodded, and ran off. Shay took the hot water pitcher and wet a cloth with it, dabbing splatters of blood from his lover's face. Aveline sighed sensuously at the feel of the warm cloth, and Shay chuckled. "Keep that up and I may have to clean your whole body with it."

She smiled. "I wouldn't object to that. It's warm, it feels good."

He kissed her chastely, and returned her smile. "I hope _I'm_ warm and feel good, too."

She laughed, and kissed back, more passionately. "Very warm. And very good." She began to unbuckle her Assassin outfit. "In fact, I would love it _very_ much if you cleaned me up with that cloth and then--well, I might need more warming up by then." She shivered, only partially for show.

He quickly pulled her over to the bed and began helping with her bloody clothes. Even her underclothes had been drenched, and she made a face as she peeled them off. (Even after being lovers for so long, Shay still frequently blushed with embarrassment at her underthings. It was adorable.) He lingered with the hot cloth, wiping off the blood and then holding her a little closer than was strictly necessary, but finally he thought she was clean. He blushed and quickly tore off his clothes, pulling her under the blankets and forming a warm cocoon around them as her teeth chattered.

She melted up against him, and slowly the chattering ceased. She worked herself into his lap and began kissing him languorously. He felt her tender skin, her tight muscles, under his callused hands as they traveled up and down her body. She wasn't soft and rounded like other women, but hard and toned, and it excited him every time to feel the coiled power of her, the capacity to kill a man harnessed--just for him--into loving caresses.

"Feeling warmer?" he asked, kissing from ear to collarbone as his hands situated themselves on her hips.

"Mmm, could be warmer," she murmured. "Body heat would probably work better if we were even closer," and she began grinding her hips, at first slowly, but then her arousal heightened and she sped up, nearly frantic.

Killing always made her like this: desperate for touch, for something _alive_ , feeling like she would crawl out of her skin if she couldn't work the feeling out of her. And nothing and nobody felt so alive to her as Shay, muscles rippling beneath his naked flesh, his lips parted slightly as he gazed at her, just waiting for her tongue. His fingers were firm as they traveled down her back, and when she slid forward onto him, he pulled her even closer, gasping her name.

She had held the dying man in the same arms she now held Shay with, but oh how different it was. Shay was _alive_ , he was _beloved_ , he was what she wanted and what she needed, moaning up into her mouth as she rode him harder. If she could just move quickly enough, it felt like they were the same person, occupying the same space, her filling him up as he filled her. The pain of the day, the strain of muscle and the agony of mind, began to melt away, and she was dimly aware that she was no longer cold at all, but much more important was the climax encroaching on her, crashing over her body like a tall wave and leaving her feeling broken and healed, shaky and strong. She had never before felt quite like she did in his arms, hearing him calling her name like a talisman. Soon enough, he arched his back, driving himself up into her with his own release.

They lay, together, boneless and thoroughly exhausted in the sweaty blankets, nestling deeper as their sweat began to cool off in the arctic air. He nuzzled at her chin, smiling, and she kissed the tip of his nose. Then he slid his tongue into her ear, she licked his forehead with extra saliva, and he thumped her with a pillow. And that was it, they were lost to the silliness of the moment, two exquisitely trained naked killers armed with feather pillows intent on demonstrating their love for each other with a good fluffy drubbing.

When they were panting and laughing, their hearts racing, he slid a hand between her thighs, and she pulled him onto her impatiently, and then they were making love again, as ardently as they had been hitting each other with pillows. And afterwards, she lay in perfect contentment within his protective embrace, drifting off to join him in deep, restorative sleep. She'd stay as long as she could, and maybe he'd wake up in time for one more before her visit ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THESE TWO.


	4. 1780

Aveline preferred to dress for comfort when she could. Perhaps it wasn't appropriate for a French lady, to run around in trousers, climbing on buildings and killing people, but after all, she was only half French anyway. In any case, with her father and stepmother dead, there was nobody to disapprove of how she dressed when she was sitting around at home checking over her ledgers. And right now, it was insufferably hot and stuffy inside the Grandpré mansion, so there was nobody to complain about her wearing lacy pantaloons and a light chemise which had, unfortunately, gotten rather ink-splotched the last time she checked over her books in heat like this.

Well, there were seven visitors who could theoretically complain, although she didn't really think any of them would. And if they tried, she had plenty of ammunition to tease them with. She'd seen more than her fair share in turn; visiting just worked like that.

Especially when the visitor in question had seen everything she had to show. But it was simply adorable the way Shay turned quickly to face the corner. She could see that his ears were flaming red, and it was a fair bet that his cheeks were the same color.

Hmm. He was certainly a welcome distraction. All her books were balanced, and she'd written orders for all of her ships; she had only to post them and she could do that later. It was hot, but they could move slowly, and they'd certainly sweat enough to cool down.

"Let me know when I'm permitted to turn around," he practically pleaded. It was then that she decided to be just a little bit wicked.

"My understanding is that you've seen it all before," she teased.

"Aye, but..." he mumbled, turning around. "In case you hadn't..."

She smiled and took out a box from the secret drawer in her desk. It had been delivered just the other day. "I need your help with something."

"Oh?" He came over and sat in the chair in front of her desk, trying nobly not to stare down the deeply scooped neck of the chemise.

"I had a...garment made. For a special assignment. Involving a particular Templar. And I wanted to know what you thought of me in this. If I could, mm, complete my mission successfully. What the Templar would think. You know, that sort of thing."

He shifted in his chair. "All right. I suppose I could give my opinion."

She smiled and went behind her screen, shedding the old underthings she was wearing and opening the box.

It was off-white, and cut in the style of Assassin robes, but it was about as far as one could get from such utilitarian clothing. Instead, the lacy form-fitting thing clung to her body, the ecru stitching standing out against her skin tone. She supposed it could be called a nightgown, but she'd never sleep in something that, for one thing, covered her thighs while leaving her private area exposed. And for another thing, it was a lot tighter on her breasts than she liked in a nightgown, lifting them up while doing absolutely nothing to cover them. Also, she never wore her silk stockings to sleep, but she knew he had a thing for them, so she'd put them on.

She noticed that it had a definite effect on Shay, and smiled. "So, what do you think?" 

He was gaping at her, his eyes lingering on her breasts, her crotch, then flicking guiltily back to her face. "Ahhhh...uh...who's the lucky Templar who gets to see you in this?"

She grinned. He'd walked right in to her trap! "Oh...he's very handsome," she purred, leaning over him in the chair. "A very good man..." she straddled him, first one leg and then the other, then whispered in his ear, "who makes his own luck..."

She could see the astonishment and disbelieving joy all across his face as she pressed up against him, as she lifted his chin so she could kiss him properly, and he slid his hands up her legs, over her stockings and under the nightgown, ending by delicately pulling his fingers through her hairs, stroking her as he did so. She shivered in delight, spreading her legs to give him better access, and he slid one calloused finger into her, gently. Her gasp of pleasure spurred him onwards, and he explored within her, concentrating on the places he know would render her a helpless mess of love and excitement.

His finger was joined by another, and he stroked her until she was completely undone from his nimble fingers, and then he lifted her up. She shrieked in surprise, then laughed, clinging to him as he moved her to the desk, throwing all her paperwork to the side.

Normally they both preferred if she was on top of him, but after a climax she was often too wobbly in the knees to handle it. And sometimes it was very, very nice to be held in his strong arms, to be laid on the desk while he unfastened his trousers, to see him handle himself for her benefit, to feel him leaning into her. He carefully moved aside the skirts of her lacy garment to protect them.

"Now, Shay, _please,_ " she begged. His fingers were very, very skilled, but she wanted all of him now, and she nearly couldn't take it when he entered her, shrieking with the overwhelmingly amazing sensation. 

He shook with the effort of restraint as his fingers moved to the neckline of the nightgown, hands working their way under to cup her breasts. "Aveline," he whispered reverently.

"Go fast, please," she murmured, hooking her silk-covered ankles together behind him. "I need you fast and hard."

He obeyed, and very soon she was screaming his name and pulling at his ponytail as he took her, and it was so very easy to slide into her fast, when she had her hands roaming his chest, when her own breasts were bouncing with every thrust of his, when their voices rose in counterpoint consisting entirely of each other's names. And it was very easy to become overwhelmed with sensation, to lose himself in her, feeling the silk of her stockings and the warm flesh of her thighs, and before he knew it he'd come, collapsing on top of her and catching his ragged breath. "I think..." he whimpered, "I think that Templar...I think he likes this thing." He tugged gently at the lace. "I think he likes it a lot. But only when it's on you."

She was panting under him, her eyes glazed. "I think...I think the mission was a success."

He nodded. "Definite success. You've definitely...definitely hit your target." He thumped his chest weakly. "Right in the heart."

She smiled, a little nervously, and whispered, "I...I love you. I think I have for a long time."

He grinned with relief. "Good, because I love you too." And then they were kissing again, as if nothing else could come between their lips, not even air, and it wasn't too much longer before Shay was ready for more, and Aveline was more than ready for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Shay's morning had begun in the best way possible, with a beautiful woman impatiently kissing him awake. It didn't matter to him that nobody else on the Morrigan could see Aveline. _He_ could see her just fine, her Assassin gear all disheveled and unbuckled, showing a healthy amount of her lovely skin as she kissed downwards from his lips.

And _oh_ , the things her tongue was getting up to! He could never again agree with "everything is permitted", but he could certainly get behind "everything Aveline can do with her tongue is permitted." She was inventive, determined, and loving, and he was most appreciative. He had just wound his fingers through her braided hair and was moaning with delight, when he registered the creaking of his cabin door, a moment too late.

"Shay! Oh, what a relief to see you well!"

Oh, no. Not him. Anyone but him. That _voice_. Shay flailed for his discarded blankets. Aveline laughed, which really didn't help anything given where her mouth was.

"I was worried about your health, given the noise you were making--"

Maybe a ship could happen by, shoot a cannonball right at his cabin, and put him out of his misery.

"--but here I see you were just thinking of your dream girl."

Shay nearly asked Gist if he was unable to see the half-naked Assassin on top of him, then remembered that, of course, he couldn't.

"What was her name, Evaline?" Gist continued.

" _Evaline??_ " Aveline asked.

"No, not Evaline," Shay mumbled. He was sure his face looked just like a beet, or a tomato.

"Well, if you're that into her, you really ought to court her. Any woman would be lucky to get such a, ah, well-endowed man as you."

"He's not wrong," Aveline added brightly.

"Not... helping..." Shay mumbled.

"Tell you what, I'll mention it to Master Kenway, I'm sure he'll give you some missions near her so that you can spend time with her."

Aveline was laughing so loudly that Shay could barely hear his first mate, and he had to raise his voice to hear himself over her. "I really don't think that would be a good idea."

"Nonsense! Master Kenway is very good to us."

"Maybe he'll put me out of my misery," Shay mumbled.

"What was that?" Gist asked.

"Nothing."

* * *

When they docked that afternoon, Haytham boarded the Morrigan. Shay had hoped Gist had forgotten, but no such luck. "A moment of your time, please, Master Kenway?"

"Of course, Gist."

"Are you mad?" Shay asked. "Don't--!"

"Is there a problem, Shay?" Haytham asked.

"No, sir," Shay mumbled, as Gist spoke up. "Yes, sir."

"I can't believe you, Gist. I thought you were my friend." Shay covered his face with his hands.

"Shay's in love with this girl," Gist began. "Several nights a week, I hear him calling her name."

"Are you keeping track??" Shay sputtered. "I can't believe this."

"And what is her name?" Haytham asked, mostly suppressing a smile.

"Nobody!" Shay insisted.

"Adeline, Evaline, something like that. He's very loud but not easy to understand."

Haytham looked like a cat that had gotten into the cream. "Oh, _Aveline_. The fur trapper's daughter?"

"What?? No, she--"

"She's a lovely woman."

"You know of her?" Gist asked, surprised.

"Oh, yes," Haytham smirked. "Of course, poor Shay here never knows when he'll see her next. You see, Gist, she runs her father's business, which takes her from town to town." He glared at Shay as he began to speak.

"Oh! So you mean to say she could be in any town at any time?"

"Yes, and I think he's been denying himself the pleasure of her company at times for fear of discovery. You see, her father disapproves of our Shay for no other reason than his poor origins and Irish blood."

Gist nodded. "So secrecy is our watchword?"

"Indeed." Haytham considered. "For what it's worth, Shay, you and Aveline make a lovely couple, and I foresee that one day you will wed her and have beautiful children."

"Sir, may I speak with you a minute?" Shay asked through gritted teeth.

"Of course," Haytham said blithely. "Pardon us, Gist."

Shay led Haytham to his cabin, then rounded on him as soon as the door was closed. "What was all that?"

Haytham didn't even blink. "Plausibility. Come now, Shay, I'm sure you've been acting quite strangely. Concocting a believable story gives you an excuse to rush off to the nearest inn and rent a room whenever Aveline visits. Or sneak into the forest if you would rather. I ask only that when you are actually on a mission that you put business before pleasure."

Shay stared at him. "All right, that's sensible. But the fur trapper bit?"

Haytham shrugged. "A coffee merchant would be out of place this far north. And fur trappers travel quite a bit, which would explain you running into her in various places. I honestly have no idea what her father would think of a poor Irishman. But it may serve to keep your crew from demanding to meet her, and explain why you don't marry her, given that in this time she's still a child."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, your crew will find it easily believable that a man would stop whatever he's doing for his lover. As an excuse it has the added benefit of truth."

Shay tried to think of another objection. "I--uh...well, thank you, Haytham." He'd felt totally befuddled and wrong-footed all day. Damn Gist. "Don't you think it was laying it on a little thick to say we'll marry and have children, though?"

Haytham looked insufferably smug. "Not at all, Shay, not at all. Do try not to be killed in the next few decades."


	6. Chapter 6

Aveline appeared on Shay's desk, startling him nearly out of his chair. When he righted himself, looking a bit flustered, she climbed into his lap, whispering into his ear, "My understanding is that you very much like how short this skirt is?" In her slave guise, her skirt was barely past her knees.

He cleared his throat. "I don't think I'd be permitted to show you just now." His eyes flicked over her shoulder.

She looked at Haytham, who was shielding his eyes, and smiled. "Oh, am I interrupting important Templar business? Good." She reached for one of Shay's hands and slid it up her leg. He made a little sound of distress and pleasure intermingled.

"If you wouldn't mind, Aveline?" Haytham asked. "I promise you can have him all to yourself afterwards."

"But I want him  _now_ ," she pretended to pout. "Look at what an excellent specimen of manhood he is." She began to unbuckle his various weapons with nimble fingers. "So strong, look at those shoulders of his! And his chest is a work of art." She heaved an appreciative sigh.

"I'll take your word for it," Haytham assured her.

"And his prominent jaw... his noble chin... his expressive lips..." She began to kiss him, interspersed with small moans of pleasure. "Of course, his lips are quite adept at... other things. And his tongue! Oh, mmm, you have no idea what he can do with that tongue of his."

"I don't need to," Haytham replied stiffly.

"I could wax lyrical about his tongue all day."

"Please don't."

"How could you deny me one second of the pleasure of his company for your Templar nonsense?"

"You had better be genuinely overcome by lust," Haytham told her mildly, "because if I discover that you're doing this solely to obstruct us, and playing him false, I  _will_ kill you."

"Master Kenway, I--" Shay tried to protest.

"I don't lie about Shay," she replied calmly, shushing him. "Interfering with your plans is just the chocolate on top of the sweet cake of love." She stroked a finger along Shay's jaw, gazing at him tenderly.

"Oh, that's revolting," Haytham said, averting his eyes.

"It could be worse, Haytham," she told him, laughing. "Worse for you, anyway."

"How so?"

"I could feel this way about Connor, instead."

Haytham scoffed, and slammed the door as he left. Shay gazed up into Aveline's face. "So I'm a fine specimen of manhood, am I?"

"The best," she assured him, gasping as he reached farther up her skirt.

"Fine enough to take you on this table here?"

_"Yes!"_ she moaned as he laid her down and swept aside as many of the papers and maps as he could. She hiked up her skirt with one hand, tangling the other in his hair as he reminded her just what his tongue was capable of.

When her breasts were heaving with every breath, when the taste of her lay heavy on his tongue, when she had clamped her knees around his shoulders, then he lifted his head to gaze at her. Her head was thrown back with wild abandon, her legs wobbled unsteadily, and he was enveloped in the scent of her, sweet and pungent, sweat and leather, soap and steel, some kind of tropical flower to round it off (what had she been up to before visiting?)

He climbed up onto the table, only to have her deftly roll him over onto his hopelessly crumpled papers, straddling him as she worked at his many buckles. She was quick and thorough, exposing his entire torso and running her hands along it before practically tearing off his breeches. "Mmm, Shay," she murmured, running her hands along the length of him. He arched up into her, unable to form any words at the feel of her strong grasp. Before long, he was completely undone in her hands, quivering every time she brushed  _that_  callus on  _that_  finger against him  _right there_.

"Aveline..." he panted, "if you want...me...you'd better... _now_..."

She merely smirked. "Who says this isn't what I want?" He realized that she had only one hand on him, the other on herself, and as the left moved faster, so did the right. He reached for her, drew her close enough to kiss hungrily as she gasped.

He  _saw_  her, he saw the climax tear through her, her soft cry as it shook her entire body. And the sight of her, the feel of her hand clenching and shaking, sent him over the edge to join her. And afterwards, he pulled her close for loving kisses, never minding the hard table under his back, but ensuring that she rested only on him or his clothes for what limited comfort they could provide.

He'd never realized that  _her_  hands could have such an effect on him, never fantasized about it even, but he was most definitely willing to feel the tantalizing touch of her fingers any time she chose.


	7. 1790

Shay woke up, confused at first. He was at the Homestead, but Aveline was curled up next to him, and--yes, that was right, they'd come for a little family vacation to spend time with Connor and his two rather terrifying aunts.

He pulled his breeches from the floor and up under the blankets so he could dress enough to make it to the privy without being embarrassed if, say, Jenny should see him wearing nothing but a nightshirt. Sneaking out of the bedroom, he peered in at the nursery, where little Philippe slept the deep sleep of a child who had spent the entire previous day trying to go right over the cliff that had almost killed his father. Shay had to stop for a moment, as his vision unaccountably went blurry at the sight of his son's adorable face, the little curls in his hair, the wooden cow clutched in his chubby hands.

Right. To the privy. First, down the stairs, skipping the one that Connor swore had gotten fixed at some time in the past thirty-odd years, but that Shay still didn't trust. Then, out the back door, into the outhouse and--or not, since it was occupied by Connor's more terrifying aunt, that Shay couldn't think of by any other name than Jacob Kidd, the one that didn't like Templars _at all_ , especially not in the outhouse.

He found a haystack. It seemed the safest place to wait.

After what seemed like a very long time, she was finished, and he was nearly bursting, and almost didn't make it. He wondered if she was lying in wait to assassinate him, and debated whether he should just sleep in the haystack until it was safe. But no, his lovely Aveline was up there, and maybe if she woke up before Philippe rose at the crack of dawn...

He scanned the area with his other sight, paying particular attention to hiding places. Nothing. He didn't hear any ominous whispers, either, so he quickly headed back into the house and up the stairs, grateful for his good luck.

It turned out that he needn't have worried about the creaking of the door waking Aveline, as she was already--well, he wasn't sure whether to be jealous or not. He'd never imagined he'd find his wife in bed with another man, and she wasn't, technically; she was in bed with _him_. He was sure he'd've remembered this happening, so this had to be him from the future, underneath her.

It was oddly arousing to watch: his hands were tied to the bedposts with his own Templar sash, and he was clearly enjoying being completely at her mercy, as she was grinding her hips down into his with panting desperation. He had his feet flat to the bed, his knees bent, and was using that leverage to thrust up in counterpoint to her movements. Shay at the door gaped, and walked slowly over to the bed, admiring the way his Aveline's muscular buttocks flexed--he'd never seen her from this angle when they made love, so this was all new and not entirely unwelcome.

She moaned deep in her throat, a sure sign of impending climax, and of course the Shay on the bed knew it too, and of course he sped up, almost bouncing her on his hips. As she screamed, he groaned with his own release, gasping for air, and then, as she rolled off of him and lay on the bed trying to catch her breath, he grinned up at himself and jerked his chin towards Aveline. "Go on, then, you know once is never enough for her." Of course, he remembered how this was all going to go, Shay realized, or he _would_ remember.

Aveline was almost laughing, her breasts heaving in her rumpled nightgown. "I thought--I thought you'd already come back!" She _was_ laughing now, as she pulled him closer, trapping him in her legs and tugging at his breeches. "I didn't realize you could be visiting when you were already here!" She pulled him down onto her, fumbling to free him from the constraining clothing. The other Shay watched with a grin, moving his elbow out of the way of Aveline's head.

Shay, the Shay that was actually there, had never wanted to have anyone watch him and Aveline. But then, it was his own self, wasn't it? How strange could it be, if he knew every move he was going to make? He was dimly aware that this didn't actually make a lot of sense, but after all, he was there in Aveline's beautiful, shapely, muscular arms, and she was holding him so tight with her legs, and it was more than natural just to slip into her, she was so warm and slick. Her hands pulled off his nightshirt and her fingers trailed down his chest, palms flat against the swell of muscle as he propped himself up with his arms. Her hazel eyes glazed over with pleasure at the feel of him inside and--

"Untie me," visiting Shay pleaded, watching. "Please. I can...I can help." Aveline reached up to tug at the sash, and the other Shay reached a hand in between them, smiling. Aveline's eyes went wide, and she grinned as she realized what wonderful possibilities this could mean, with one version of her husband making love to her and the other helping.

The Shay who was on top of her found it all strange, the hand in between them, the occasional brush of his own callused fingers if he moved too quickly. But they fell into a rhythm, the three of them, one Shay taking her and the other pleasuring her, and before long, she was having to bite back shrieks of delight.

Her back arched, driving her up and closer to both Shays, and she stifled a scream as her release wrung her out. Her legs were shaking, and she was babbling from the aftershocks as her husband collapsed on her, and her husband clung to her side.

"It'll get even better than this," visiting Shay whispered to his earlier self.

"Aaauuuunghhh," earlier Shay groaned incoherently. He wasn't sure if "better" was actually better, but he was willing to find out, once he was capable of moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of two Shays is entirely the fault of VampireBadger.


	8. 1791

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if you were looking for lots of smut; this chapter has only a smattering of smut (and honestly, I was debating which work to put it in at all, but I felt uncomfortable having it rated T)

"Why are we here?" Shay asked Aveline, confused. "I mean, are we permitted to be here?" He figured from the size of her, not that he minded, that the codeword was unnecessary; it just happened that he was genuinely asking.

She looked up from the book she'd been reading, comprehension dawning on her face. "Oh! You seek an understanding of why we're in the Aquila." She grinned and pulled him to the bed. "Well, Connor told us we were too loud and threw us out of the house. The Morrigan's being repaired and you didn't want me suffering a chilly wind in my condition, so you picked the lock to Connor's cabin, and went to get our own blankets."

"Oh. So, I'm around then?" Something twisted in his stomach, either discomfort or excitement, he wasn't sure which.

Aveline was obviously not feeling any discomfort at all, judging by her smirk. "Yes, you should be back any minute now, and I'm sure you won't be too surprised to find yourself here." She wriggled onto his lap, and he was definitely feeling more excitement than discomfort now. It hadn't been too bad, that last time, now that he thought about it for about the millionth time in the past few days. He hadn't really _minded_ another one of himself in the bed, and he'd been able to completely lose himself in the moment without having to worry about how to work in that extra bit of pleasure for her. 

"All right, then. Ah, should we get started?" He felt as awkward as some of those times, decades ago, when they were new to each other's bodies and hearts, and maybe Aveline picked up on that, because she pulled him into a deep kiss, and he was definitely quite excited by the time the other Shay slipped through the door, grinning.

Everything was proceeding well, and Aveline had been having some lovely ideas that they were trying out, when suddenly the bed was over-full of flailing limbs. Both Shays threw themselves over Aveline protectively as she curled up.

"Yah! Whoa! Agh! What the--oh, shit, of course I'd drop in on-- **what the literal fuck**." That was obviously Desmond, both from his strange patterns of speech and the way he was covering his eyes with one hand. Shay realized, actually, that he only had the one hand to cover his eyes with, while the other Shay pulled a blanket over Aveline tenderly.

"I think you get the idea," Aveline said cheerfully, tucking the blanket around her and sitting up.

"Aye, literal fuck indeed," Shay added, and his non-visiting counterpart chuckled.

"Are there two of you?" Desmond demanded. "Why are there two of you? Aveline, why are you having a threesome with two of Shay?"

She sounded affronted. "Why shouldn't I? Everything is permitted."

"Just, stop. Both of you. All of you. I can't believe this. I, I try so hard to get back to you guys, and this is what I visit during. And on Connor's ship, no less." Desmond sighed. "I really should have known this would happen."

"Back to us?" Shay asked. "What d'you mean, back to us?" The other Shay opened his mouth, presumably to explain, but decided against it.

"Can you guys just put some blankets over your crotches or something? Like, several layers so I can't see the outlines of...uh...your junk?" Desmond pleaded.

"It's not junk!" Aveline insisted as both Shays scrambled for more blankets.

"No, I mean, it's a slang term for..." Desmond squeezed his eyes closed and made a vague gesture with his hand. "You know."

"No, I don't know," she said, trying to repress laughter.

"Oh my god, you totally know, you're...you're knocked up and in the middle of a Shay sandwich, you _totally_ know and don't you dare deny it, Aveline."

She failed catastrophically at her attempts to continue repressing her laughter. "I didn't know the _word_ , Desmond."

He groaned. "Well, anyway, I was going to tell you all about how I saved the world and lost my arm and the ability to visit, but maybe you guys might want to explain to me why there's two Shays in this bed that I'm sitting on and oh my nonexistent god I'm technically in bed with two Shays, maybe I really should have died instead."

"You can't visit?" Aveline asked. "But you're here."

Desmond waved his hand. "The Apple. But I don't want to...or I shouldn't...and anyway, when I went to see Connor and Haytham, you wouldn't believe the crazy stuff going on there, although this is definitely weirder."

"What crazy stuff?" Shay asked.

"Like, Connor's a wolf and stuff, it's--it's really crazy, believe me."

"Washington's Apple," Aveline said, nodding.

"Oh. So, you know." Desmond sounded a little deflated.

"He told me," Aveline confirmed.

"He didn't tell me that you guys were--how does this even _work_?"

"We haven't told _him_ ," the other Shay said, rolling his eyes. "As far as I can tell, it works when I'm far away from Aveline for a few minutes, and happen to pop in for a visit. And then I come back."

"I didn't realize, the first time," Aveline said defensively. "He got up out of the bed in the middle of the night and then he was there again. And then he returned, and there were two of him, so what else was I going to do?"

Desmond groaned. "Take turns? _Not have sex because it's a weird situation?_ Wait. I should know better than to think that you and Shay could spend five minutes together fully dressed."

"We've done that plenty of times," she insisted.

"Parenting is easier with clothes on," Shay added.

"Oh! Speaking of parenting, I wanted to tell you. The Templars in my time, no offense Shay but they're total dickheads, they took your life and made it into a video game, Aveline."

"A what?" she asked.

"It's like...people play a game on a computer, like they're you and living through your life."

She wrinkled her nose, confused. "Why would they do that?"

"They made it into a piece of propaganda. I--they don't include any of the sex obviously, but they make it seem like you became a Templar. Which makes me wonder why they haven't done one of your life, Shay, because obviously that would be _way easier_ to get their point across."

"Why did you--"

"--and they used, um, it's in the, um, the things your descendants inherit from you? Memories of your lives? It's like the Animus, you've seen the Animus, I used it to relive Altaïr and Ezio and Haytham and Connor's memories because I'm descended from all of them. Well, someone descended from you guys, they used them to get your memories, Aveline."

She looked disgusted, and shivered. The other Shay pulled her close, comforting.

"But get this," Desmond said, looking almost happy. " _I saw you_. In the game. You guys met up in Paris once, right? And Aveline, you just kept trying to pickpocket him while you were walking around the city? Well, they put that in the game. And...I was so happy! To see you!" He spontaneously pulled Aveline and both Shays into an arm-and-stump hug. "And honestly, I really should have expected you guys would be naked if I used the Apple to come to you. I mean, this is the two of you. ...or more, as it happens."

They all looked at him, a little unsettled, and Aveline crossed her hands protectively over her child. "They're using _our descendants_ to get my memories and _distort_ them?"

Desmond stared at her. "You're cool with two Shays in bed with you, but the Animus creeps you out?"

Aveline nodded uncomfortably.

Desmond couldn't find words for a minute, then he waved his hand vaguely. "Sorry. Uh. Um, maybe you should get back to what you were doing. I mean, there's nothing you can do about having descendants, now--I mean--"

"I _want_ Shay's children," Aveline said firmly. "Our Philippe, this one, maybe more in the future. No Templar is going to stop us."

"I, I get that, I do. I just...I was just happy to see you. I'll...I'll go now." He sighed and began to fade.

"Wait!" Aveline called. "It's...it's good to see you again, Desmond."

Both Shays nodded in agreement, and the other one, the one that was actually there with Aveline, took her in his arms and held her tightly as Desmond winked out. Visiting Shay pressed himself against her back, much like how they had been before Desmond appeared, only this time for comfort rather than excitement.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked, quietly, sadly.

"It can't be wrong to have children," Shay murmured, burying his face in her hair.

"How could they steal my memories like this?"

"That's a Templar Order I wouldn't join," the other Shay said firmly. "Doing such things is wrong."

She nodded, and the three of them sank to the bed, holding each other tightly until they were two (or three, counting the baby) again.


	9. Chapter 9

Aveline and Shay had worked up quite a sweat sparring, and both were marked with more than a few small bruises. They had gotten to unarmed brawling techniques before his racing heart and the scent of her and her closeness had combined to distract him quite thoroughly. He was nevertheless stunned when she stopped working on the takedown she was practicing, and instead bent over a stack of ammunition crates, pulling down her trousers and whispering, "Take me _now_." It only took him an extra second to get it through the head on his shoulders; the other responded right away.

They had a good rhythm going before long, and he was deep inside her while she was moaning in a thoroughly lovely way, so he didn't even notice the tingle in his mind--to be fair, he wasn't using that head _at all_ by this point. But he certainly noticed when he was bodily pulled from her with a blade to his neck.

"What do you think you're _doing,_ Templar?" Altaïr hissed in his ear, and Shay wondered how anyone could possibly _not_ realize what they were up to. "Time was, Templars only _killed_ Assassins, they didn’t violate them first."

Shay struggled and promptly lost his balance due to the trousers twisted around his ankles. "My wife," he croaked, "she _asked_ me."

A thin line of blood ran down Altaïr's hand, and the Assassin drew in a sharp breath. "You lie."

Shay raised his left hand slowly and looked pointedly at his wedding band. "It's the truth."

Aveline strode over, naked from the waist down but blithely unconcerned about it. "Unhand my husband, Mentor," she said, civilly enough, but with a hint of steel.

Altaïr scoffed. "You call _me_ Mentor?"

"I do. I respect you. But believe me, if you kill my husband, you will regret it."

Altaïr thought on this, then withdrew his blade, still holding Shay nearly as close as Shay had been holding Aveline a few minutes ago. "You're an Assassin. How can you marry this traitor?"

"Because I love him, and I trust him."

Altaïr shook his head. "He will betray you as he betrayed the Brotherhood."

"No, he won't. I've known him long enough to know that he is truly loyal to me. Please, let him go." After a minute's thought, Altaïr complied, pushing Shay away and watching him stumble over to Aveline and pull up his trousers, face flaming red.

"An Assassin and a Templar...it turns my stomach," Altaïr spat.

Shay mumbled, "You'll understand when you're older," and Aveline, surprised, laughed aloud.

"Yes, love, I do believe he will."

Altaïr scowled. "Am I to stay my blade from him?" he asked Aveline.

"Yes, if you please. I'm rather fond of him, and I have children who would be _most upset_ to lose their father." She eyed Altaïr as she spoke, weighing her words despite the light, even tone. "That you can understand, I'm sure."

He nodded, once. "Very well. But when he hurts or betrays you, do let me know. I will be more than happy to--"

"Your offer is appreciated, but I can handle my husband myself," Aveline cut in coldly.

"He had you in a very vulnerable position," Altaïr retorted.

"That's part of marriage," she pointed out. "Being vulnerable and knowing that you are safe with your beloved. I trust that he will not stab me... not with a blade, anyway." She smirked. "It would be a sorry sort of union if we were too worried for our lives to enjoy our love."

Altaïr shook his head, still revolted. "For the sake of a member of the Brotherhood, I will not attack him unless I see him betraying you or using your love to the Templars' advantage." His lip curled as he looked at Shay, and then he disappeared.

Aveline took her husband in her arms, wiping away the dried blood from the cut along his neck and holding him tightly as he tried to calm his breathing. "That's the closest I've come to dying in years," he murmured, leaning his head on her bosom.

"Oh, Shay, what am I to do with you?" she asked with fond exasperation.

"If Altaïr has anything to do with it, murder me."

"I had forgotten how inflexible he could be."

"I hadn't. He took over Haytham at my initiation. Barely got made a Templar, and already the Assassin Mentor's after me, in my own Grand Master's body."

Aveline's cheeks darkened a little, and she bit her lip, grinning. "Sounds like an exciting initiation."

Shay grinned. "I hear there was an Assassin that disrupted a Templar initiation about twenty years later in New Orleans."

Aveline tried to sound uninterested. "Oh, really? That must have been quite the sight to see."

"I'm sorry I missed it, though I doubt I'd have survived."

She held her hand to his cheek. "I think you might've. Out of sheer handsomeness, if nothing else."

He turned his head to kiss her palm. "Do you still have the ring?"

"Of course. Well hidden, mind you." She looked at him with eyes wide. "Do you...as a Templar, does talk of such things offend you?"

He shook his head. "No more so than anything from our life together. Loving an Assassin requires some accommodation."

"You ought to try being an Assassin and loving a Templar!"

He pulled her into his arms. "We could play at that, if you like."

She grinned wickedly, then pulled him into a passionate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Shay and Aveline, they keep getting interrupted lately.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like awkward discomfort. Otherwise this chapter will be awkward and uncomfortable.

Haytham hates to interrupt Shay at times like this. The poor man hasn't seen Aveline for almost a month, as he'd been complaining to Haytham earlier this evening. At that moment she'd popped in, wearing nothing but a cotton robe and dripping bathwater all over the fleet map. Once Shay was capable of talking, he'd mumbled something unintelligible to Haytham and nearly jumped into Aveline's loving arms. Haytham had excused himself to the deck to keep watch, all night if he had to. And it was a good thing, because he was the first to spot the bounty hunter. In the dead of night, there's a possibility they won't be seen in return, so Haytham quietly calls all to quarters without ringing the bell, and now there's nothing left but to wake Gist and get Shay on deck.

The only problem in that Haytham doesn't think Shay and Aveline are done. He dithers for a moment, wondering whether Gist can handle it, but decides that, no, this is a situation that calls for Shay. So, clamping his eyes closed, he opens the door of Shay's cabin, and promptly falls over the fleet map, eyes flying open as his face collides with the table.

And there they are, in the candlelight, Aveline's naked back and buttocks visible as she pins Shay to the bed. She's got his hands tied up above his head, and she's pressing down on them as she rides him, panting and moaning his name. Her breasts bounce firmly with her every move. Haytham, distinctly uncomfortable, tries to look away, or at least down at Shay. That should be safe, right?

Shay writhes under her, hands stilled but the rest of his body in motion, digging his heels into the bed for leverage to thrust his hips up into her. His mouth is open in a wordless moan, a trickle of saliva moistening the corner of his lips and making Haytham even more intensely uncomfortable.

Aveline bounces more vigorously as her moans crescendo. "Oh, Shay, my Shay, oh, so alive, so lovely," she moans and gasps, kissing and biting his lips when she can. One final thrust of her hips and she throws back her head, shrieking his name with abandon.

Shay, for his part, has a grimly determined look about him, now, feet slipping on the sheets as he struggles to keep up the pace. His eyes glaze over and he moans, "Aveline..." as he quakes under her, until his legs collapse, sending the both of them into a sprawled heap of sweaty flesh. She unties his wrists (the Templar sash _again_ , Haytham notes with a certain disapproval) and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and murmuring endearments as she kisses his face and jaw.

"Ahem, Shay," Haytham manages, although his voice cracks on Shay's name. "You're needed on deck."

Shay kisses Aveline one last time, stroking her cheek tenderly. "I'll be back," he tells her softly. "Wait for me?"

"As long as I can," she murmurs, grabbing his (extremely firm, tight) buttock and squeezing it as a tease or a promise, Haytham can't tell which.

Shay smiles down at her as he gets up, and has some amount of trouble dressing as Aveline keeps touching him, caressing his rippling, sweat-streaked chest and running her hand along his inner thigh. Her breasts (Haytham tries not to look but can't help seeing) jiggle with every throaty sigh she makes while appreciating Shay's muscular form. She seems intent on not letting him leave her presence without another round of loving.

Haytham clears his throat loudly. "If you could please hurry, Shay?" At Aveline’s look of tolerant annoyance, he explains, "I understand your wish to keep him in bed--"

"You do, do you?" Aveline smirks at him in an entirely unsettling fashion. "I'll not share him, you know. Not even with you."

"I didn't--" Haytham sputters lamely, "He's--I don’t-- _Aveline_!!" He can feel his cheeks burning, curses the feeling of embarrassment gnawing at him.

She rolls onto her back on the bed, helpless from laughter. "Your face!" she guffaws.

Shay looks up from fastening his trousers, amused. "Aveline," he remonstrates, gently. "Don't pick on Haytham. He’s not watching us for the sight of _me_ naked."

Haytham isn't sure how to respond to that, so he simply clears his throat again as Aveline sits up, ill concealing her body beneath a blanket. "Shay, it's a bit of an emergency," he mumbles, as Aveline grins wickedly, as if she can hear him trying not to think about things he's trying not to think about not thinking about.

"Oh, Shay, do go take care of Haytham’s _emergency_ ," she pretends to pout. "I'm just going to be here having an emergency of my own. An emerging lack of Shay."

Shay blushes, finally fully clothed, much to Haytham’s relief, and gives Aveline one last lingering kiss before hurrying to the door. Haytham turns to follow him, adjusting his coat as he does so, unsure even in his own mind which one of them caused it to be necessary.

Time to put it from his mind. He's done so much to prevent others from ruining his friends' relationship (and, he knows from visits far in the future, eventual marriage) that the idea of exploring the cause of his errant... _feelings_ never even enters his thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows immediately after [Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition) chapter 61](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4608768/chapters/12554300).
> 
> You should read that one first.
> 
> Really.

"All right, sir," Shay says, with a kind of shy smile. "What is your pleasure tonight?"

Haytham can't breathe, for a second, as every dream he's denied, everything he's tried not to imagine, rushes through his mind at once, leaving him speechless, breathless. "I..." he begins, then licks his suddenly dry lips. "I don't know," he admits.

Aveline kisses the palm of his hand, just a delicate brush of her full lips, and Haytham finds himself shivering; it's like touching a doorknob in the winter, only it lasts for much longer, the feeling, leaving his hand tingling in a way that isn't unpleasant.

Shay's hand loosens Haytham's ponytail, discarding the ribbon somewhere then working his fingers through his Grand Master's unbound hair, grasping him by the back of the head and pulling him close for another kiss. Their tongues meet awkwardly for a moment, then Haytham disengages, but only to pull Aveline into a kiss. They sit on the bed, trading kisses, caressing each other gently, for some time, until the weight of his impending fate settles on Haytham, spurring him to speak. "Kissed you wrong last time," he murmurs to Aveline, in between kisses. "Wasn't being me. Wasn't thinking of you. All wrong. This is much better." There's a hunger growing in him, and soon kisses alone won't satisfy the urgent need. "And you," he turns and tells Shay, kissing him deeply before continuing. "Always at my side. Why did I never tell you?"

Shay reverently begins to unbutton Haytham’s coat, resting his hands on the other man's chest with a little shiver, a quiet longing in his eyes. "I don't know, sir."

"A fool, I'm a fool," Haytham insists, capturing Shay's lips again, and Shay closes his eyes, matching with lips and tongue the urgency in Haytham’s kiss.

"Not a fool," Shay tells him, hand drifting shyly to Haytham’s thigh, kneading the muscles and working his hand up and in.

"A fool to put this off for so long," Haytham admits, voice strained. "Afraid I would want it more than once, and couldn't have it."

Aveline kneels behind Haytham, her lips brushing his ear. "Then let's not delay any longer. How do you want us?"

"I don't know." Haytham shivers under her touch, gasps as Shay's hand grows bolder. "I've thought of... many things but have no experience in this situation.” _And hardly any with..._ he thinks, before forcing himself to stop.

Aveline chuckles. "And you think we do?" Her fingers slip under the waistband of his trousers, joining Shay's.

"You made the offer," Haytham murmurs, reaching shakily for Shay and sliding a hand up under his shirt, his other hand reaching behind him to rest on Aveline's thigh. She sighs in his ear, her breath warming the side of his head.

Shay's chest is, as Aveline always says, very, very muscular, and Haytham finds his hand lingering on it, fingers tracing a scar he's seen but never felt. Somehow, the intimacy of this delicate touch, his rough fingers sliding along the smooth skin, does as much to excite him as their hands stroking him in concert, and he tugs at Shay’s shirt, grasps Aveline's trousers.

He understands, now, why Shay and Aveline have always complained about each other's complicated clothing. Shay is a mess of buckles and Aveline has far too many pieces of apparel, not that it's any quicker when they turn their attentions to Haytham’s clothes. They leave him wearing nothing but his stockings (Aveline finds this hilarious, for some reason) and Haytham has never felt so exposed in his life. Here he is, unarmed, nearly naked, at the mercy of ferocious Assassin Aveline de Grandpré.

But what is there to fear? From the look in her eyes, that he's seen her aim at Shay so many times, she has other plans in mind than his death. It's a little unnerving, her direct stare, but rouses no anger in him. Only...

Trust, he realizes. He _trusts_ her. In battle, in conversation, and now in his bed. Although, really, _he's_ the one in _their_ bed. He raises his eyes to meet theirs in turn, Aveline's unblinking gaze and Shay's bashful glance, and sees nothing but the same trust reflected there. He drops his eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity on both their faces.

Theirs is a rough life, Haytham realizes anew, seeing the criss-crossing lines of scars he's used to on his own body mirrored on Shay's and even Aveline's. One cuts deeply across her breast, and he bends to kiss along it. She chuckles huskily. "Ready, Haytham?"

"I think he's more than ready for you," Shay tells her, trailing his sea-coarsened fingers down Haytham’s chest. Almost shyly and almost reverently, he takes Haytham in hand. Not stroking, not pumping, just holding him tenderly and a little quizzically, as if he can't believe he's actually touching the other man in this way.

"I... " Haytham hesitates. He knows how Shay gets about people _kissing_ Aveline. "Are you sure?" he asks his subordinate. "You really...?"

Shay nods, firmly, without even a trace of hesitation. "Aye, sir, only make sure you please her well. And... if I may touch you?" His voice cracks.

"I would hardly ask to have _your wife_ in _your bed_ if I did not also want _you_ ," Haytham murmurs. Shay kisses him, again, quietly but with deep desire.

"You didn't ask at all," Aveline reminds Haytham, laughing. "Until just now. _We_ offered." She stretches out one long leg over his, and moves to straddle his thighs, purposefully inching up his legs as Shay begins to fondle and stroke him.

Haytham gasps, his stomach clenching. There's no going back, now, and he can only move forward into this unexplored territory of Shay and Aveline. He's more than ready for Aveline as she pushes him back on the bed, settling onto him with a pleasurable sigh.

It's really happening. He's really inside her, just as he's pretended not to want. She's really rocking her hips atop his, and that soft creak of the bed shaking is really him and Aveline. It's almost too much to bear, but then he feels Shay's hand, stroking his hair, brushing down across his scarred skin to grasp his thigh, the barest intrusion between the two of them. His other hand touches Aveline similarly, though with much more confidence born of long familiarity.

"Do you remember," Aveline asks suddenly as she grinds down into Haytham, as Shay's hands touch them both, "the time I tried to seduce you? When I saw you only as an enemy?"

"What is this?" Shay asks, with that annoyed catch in his voice, and Aveline stills for a moment to sit up and kiss her husband. Haytham tries to catch his breath, but she's so warm and close that the feeling of her combines with the excitement he really has no business feeling at seeing them kiss, they've kissed so many times in front of him. And he can't, he can't bear it, he wants and needs to have her _now_.

He sits up and rolls her over as she laughs, delighted. "Yes, Haytham, finally!" she cries out as he takes her, burying himself in her. "I wondered--ooh--how long before--mmm--you'd do that."

"Oh God," Shay mutters, and Haytham stops a moment, making Aveline complain indignantly. Shay is quick to add, "Keep going! Please, sir, please fuck my wife," and he is more than happy to do so. Aveline is warm and welcoming in his arms, and he nearly loses himself in her, coming to his senses only when he feels Shay's hand slip between his thighs, finding and fondling an exquisitely sensitive target. "Do you like your--your stones touched?" Shay murmurs in Haytham’s ear. "I've wanted to do this to you for years, _sir_." His emphasis is just a shade short of insubordination.

Haytham’s only reply is a strangled sort of noise as Shay entwines his leg around Haytham’s and Aveline’s, insinuating himself between their sweat-drenched bodies, his one arm still snaking between Haytham’s legs to cradle him tenderly. It's pleasure like he's never known, the wonder of burying himself in her and the excitement of Shay's touch.

Without warning, he reaches his breathless climax, slamming into Aveline with more force than he intended as he drowns in pleasure, gasping wordlessly. Shay's hand is warm and firm on him as he twitches in the other man's grasp. And Shay continues to hold him, kisses him thoroughly, thrusts against Haytham’s thigh, and reaches his own release.

Aveline's breathing is ragged, and she grabs Haytham’s hand in her own, seizing Shay's with her other, and brings them together. Haytham looks quizzically at Shay, who clasps their hands together and motions for Haytham to roll to the side. "Follow my lead, sir," he murmurs, and brings both their hands to Aveline.

What follows is masterful, as Shay guides Haytham in stroking and caressing Aveline, drawing extraordinarily delighted moans from her lips. Haytham feels clumsy and fumbling next to Shay's expert handling of his wife, but when Aveline sighs Haytham’s name and clenches tightly around his fingers, he knows he's done well.

Haytham can’t quite keep the foolish grin from his face, just like he can't keep his hands off of either Shay or Aveline; he keeps touching them in wonderment. He hasn't been this deliriously happy since... _no_ , he won't think of it. Instead, he'll think of Shay's broad shoulders, of Aveline's amply curved hips, Shay's strong chin and Aveline’s wise and joyful eyes. He'll think of the feeling of Aveline's slick thighs and Shay's firm chest. And as he trails his fingers to Shay's back, he realizes he's stirring again with arousal. It's ridiculous. He's gone so long without, and now he wants it twice in one night? But there's something he's always wanted from Shay, he realizes, that he's never admitted, even to himself.

Aveline must see his where his gaze lingers, because she guides Haytham’s fingers down Shay's back and between his buttocks, causing Shay to pant and spread his legs a little wider. "Yes, sir," he whispers. "Do you want me, sir?" At Haytham’s silent nod, Shay gulps. He clenches his fists, loosens them, looks into Haytham’s eyes, and breathes, "Then have me. _Sir_."

Aveline presses something into Haytham’s hand, and he stares blankly at the little bottle. She sighs, and explains, "I don't mind if you make him unable to walk tomorrow--"

" _Aveline_!" Shay sputters, flushing.

"--but I don't want him to be in actual _pain_."

Haytham blushes furiously. "I grasp your meaning."

"You can grasp anything you like, just treat my husband well."

Shay groans, but Haytham pulls him close for a kiss, stroking him all the while, and Shay melts in his Grand Master's arms, whimpering, "Sir, please... I can't take any more, please just... just..." He makes a vague gesture that mystifies Haytham. Aveline apparently understands, as she presses Haytham’s oiled fingers until they slip easily into Shay.

Haytham strokes until Shay is quivering with need, then withdraws his fingers. Shay cries out, "Damn it, sir, please don't stop!" Haytham looks to Aveline, and she points impatiently and makes a crude gesture, smiling.

So Haytham applies some of the oil, applies more when he considers how slick he is, and cautiously slides into Shay. He gains confidence from Shay's breathy, "yes, _sir_ ," and works up to a vigorous pace that leaves Shay bucking up into him with every thrust.

It's... it's _wonderful_ , as perfectly right as any woman he's been with ( _almost_ any woman), hearing Shay gasping and grunting beneath him. "Sir... yes, sir... please, don’t stop... harder, sir..."

Then he feels hands on him, Aveline's hands fondling his buttocks, sliding down to caress him. He feels the weight of her on his back, her cheek against his shoulderblade. And her hand stroking him much as he stroked Shay. He freezes, making Shay groan with frustration, but Aveline coaxes him back into motion, working her fingers in and _oh that's why Shay is screaming--_

All other thoughts depart from Haytham’s brain at about that point, so intent is he on taking Shay, on the wondrous feeling of Aveline's fingertips. His fingers leave bruises on Shay's shoulders and arms that he won't even notice until later. All Haytham knows is lust and need, and if he stopped to _think_ he'd be horrified at himself, losing all his emotional control in favor of base carnal urges. But he's so far beyond caring about self-control, right now. All he wants is to be _deeper_ , to be totally enveloped in his accomplice-friend-lover-visitor- _Shay_ , to be filled up inside by his adversary-friend-lover-visitor- _Aveline_ , and once that happens, he's a rutting fool with no self awareness until he finds himself, spent, beside them, touching and caressing as Aveline enthusiastically rides Shay. And then they finish, and enfold him in their warm embrace, whispering soft words of contentment and care.

They drift off, but he lies awake between them, knowing that this may be the last hard-won ounce of happiness in his difficult life, the last time he ever sees two of the most important people in his life that aren't family. "Goodbye," he whispers to Shay, whose face is in his armpit, and "Farewell," to Aveline, pressed to his back. He rests his head on one of their pillows, and slowly joins them in sleep, content for the moment.


	12. Chapter 12

"The bed is creaking," Shay complains, panting, reaching up to kiss Aveline.

She pauses a moment to catch her breath and flick one gray braid out of her face. "It's not the bed, darling, it's you." Sweat is running down her neck, and Shay angles his head so he can lick the delicate trickles of it caught in the fine wrinkles. Her skin may have thinned with age, but she's only grown more beautiful to Shay.

"That wasn't my bum knee cracking," he objects. It's been twenty years since his knee buckled as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, but the damn thing still seizes up and can only be relieved by bending it until it cracks loudly. Still, when Shay's flat on his back like this with Aveline atop him, his knee is usually just fine.

Aveline makes a face. "All right, it was my back popping," she admits. "I'm joining you in your extreme decrepitude."

Shay chuckles and grinds his hips against hers. "For an old married couple, we have quite the vigorous love life."

Aveline moans delightedly and bends down to kiss him some more. "And I wouldn't have it any other way--oof!"

The bed is overfull, now, with their visitor, who has materialized on top of Aveline. He's crushing both her and Shay, whose vision is blocked by something soft colliding with his face.

It's a hat.

That means it's Haytham.

Haytham is in the bed with them, Haytham's weight is pinning Aveline down (and Shay can't help his response to _that_ thought, which elicits a little gasp from Aveline,) Haytham is poking Shay in the eye as he grabs for his hat.

Haytham rolls heavily off the side of the bed, clutching his hat and sputtering.

Aveline laughs and sits up. (Shay sighs as he slides out of her, feeling cold and naked and exposed.) "Haytham. How lovely of you to join us."

"It was unintentional and undesired, I assure you," Haytham tells her, carefully looking at a point somewhere over Aveline's shoulder as he clambers into a sitting position.

"You're always welcome in our bed," Shay adds hopelessly. He knows it's useless, but he and Aveline had decided it was best to keep asking, or else Haytham would wonder why they had stopped.

"As I've said before and always will, I'm both flattered and horrified at the invitation," Haytham says, straightening his hat.

Aveline elbows it and it flies into a corner of the bedroom. She grins. "Why not let the flattery win, my dear Grand Master? What could it hurt, a little fun with a loyal Templar and his willing wife?"

"I hope you're not expecting me to answer that," Haytham retorts. "Carry on with your carnal pleasures and I'll assume the Desmond position in the corner over there." He places his hands over his ears.

Shay finds he has a lump in his throat. _He_ knows, of course, that Haytham will one day (the day of his death) accede to the request. One time, in his entire life, at its end, and no more. But he has to keep asking, though he knows it will always be fruitless. Every time he asks, he can't help but hope (a doomed hope, and he knows it) that the answer will be yes. And it never will.

He looks up into Aveline's face, and finds her eyes shadowed with sorrow, her lips tight with the struggle to remain calm, and he knows that nothing pains either of them so much as the memories of that wonderful night, more than two decades ago now, and the tragedy that was the only reason it could happen.

"Well?" Haytham asks. "Carry on, don't wait for me."

"We're not," Aveline lies, and when Haytham vanishes, she presses herself close to Shay, their tears mingling as he strokes her back soothingly.


End file.
